stretch out with your feelings
by helplesslynerdy
Summary: Obi-Wan is having trouble reining in his feelings. (Basically rewriting canon- and Darth Maul didn't die after striking down Qui-Gon.) Rated M for one word that would be considered explicit.
1. Chapter 1

Sweat beads on his brow. A lone drop breaks free and makes its way down, over his closed eyelid, getting lost somewhere in his stubble. Not even a small tremor follows it in its wake.

He can do this.

He can keep his darker impulses from controlling him as Master Yoda would wish.

The room is virtually silent, the only thing of note to him is the movement of warmth as the suns move lower in the sky.

Nought but for the grinding of his teeth that echos in his head.

 _smell of burning flesh_

 _thud of his body_

 _grey eyes hazing over_

 _screaming_

 _screaming_

 _why doesn't the screaming stop_

His eyes flick open, each breath a gasp that doesn't seem to quite fill his lungs.

Damn meditation never really works when these moods come.

Obi-Wan drags a hand through his hair and unfolds his legs. His mouth pulls to the side as he shakes his head once. He braces his hands on the floor, pushing himself to stand.

It doesn't matter how many years have passed.

The night air rushes past as he opens the doors to the balcony of his chambers. Lights and bustle of Coruscant below him did little to quell the noise in his head. He clasps his hands behind his back, closing his eyes to the brightness.

He still wants to kill him.

Emotional training has always been the most difficult of the edicts for the young Jedi. Though all of the teaching revolved around concentration and control, his feelings were often molded by anyone around him. Their joy, their love, their hope, their pain, their anger- all of it taken into his body as if it were his own. And his own feelings- there were times he was afraid that their strength would consume him.

It's why he worries that he shouldn't have taken on the Chosen One as his padawan.

Why he fears he has no right to be a Jedi in the first place.

Qui-Gon had never held to the belief about feelings quite the way Yoda did. In fact, there were times he intimated that it was Obi-Wan's strength, not his weakness.

But he was dead.

"It's pretty bad when I can sneak up on you like this, Ben."

Oh, he'll be hearing about this for the next few days. He rolls his eyes before looking down at the Senator, her legs dangling over the ledge, swinging. After checking the straps on his boots, he joins her.

The lights dance across her pale skin, her back bared by the loose tunic she favored when she didn't have anywhere to be. She turns to him to finally speak, and his eyes are quickly on the skyline.

"You know it's okay, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"For you to be angry. Pissed, even."

He bites the inside of his cheek, not looking at her. _Of course she knows._

"But they're wrong, you know." She shrugs before looking out to the city.

He knows he has to be gaping like a Gungan, but she just went beyond anything that his former Master- "What?"

Her lips rise into a half-smile, as if she isn't sure she should continue. "About feelings."

"But a Jedi needs to be impartial, able to stay unbiased and calm in the face of any-"

Her eyebrow quirks. "And you think that's totally possible?"

"I-" If only he could close his mouth.

She sighs. "I've worked with the Naboo government; I've gone through training. I've seen a bit more of the world than most Padawan seem to have done. And yet, I've _never_ met anyone that had completely harnessed how they feel about things. Besides, I don't even think it's in the texts-"

"But I should do better." He cuts her off, raking a hand through his hair. "I need- _Anakin_ needs me to be exemplary."

He knows she giving him that look, the one where her eyes narrow when she thinks he's being stubborn.

"It's what makes you different. What makes you _better_ ," she says softly.

He scoffs, looking to the sky.

"Ben, look at me." He turns, ready with a retort that promptly dies on his tongue. Her face, that face that keeps him in line, pulls him from his moods, that face that is so many things to him looks more sincere than he's ever seen it. Earnest.

"It's not what feelings you have, it's what you choose to do with those feelings that matters." She grasps his arm near his elbow. "Your feelings give you _compassion_. You have to care about the people, you have to _know_ them to be able to effectively serve them. Something that those inept fusspots have no clue how to practice. You should be learning how to...stretch out with your feelings, not just stifle them!" She looks down to where she's squeezing his arm, and lets it go with a quick glance to his face.

After a long moment, she hesitantly threads her fingers through his and looks away, letting him process.

It had taken a long time of needling before he let her do this freely- after her pragmatically delivered insistence that empaths need physical conformation of affection to function properly. And if he began to crave it, well-

"I'm so...angry." His whispers are nigh inaudible, as if the Council itself had all crowded onto the balcony behind them to eavesdrop.

Without facing him she replies, "I know."

The sounds of the city are the only noise for a while. After scratching at his stubble with his free hand, he turns to her and continues, "Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to put out a blaze taking out an entire forest. Nothing seems to work, to calm it."

At that she does turn, her gaze brushing over his face without expression. She then nods once, as if deciding something.

"All right then. We need to do something about that."

He cocks his head to the left, curious. "That something being?"

"You need to learn how to swear."

"I need to _what_?"

"Swear, curse, shout obscenities to the void." The glint in her eye is the only tell that she's enjoying this exchange.

"I _know_ what it is," he splutters. "I swear!"

He's dropped her hand, and she's now leaning back on both palms."'Damn' and 'bloody' don't count."

He looks around, as if searching for someone to explain her nonsense.

"Come on, Ben. It's cathartic- might twist that stick out of your arse a notch." She grins at his indignant face. "Just one word. It can be in whatever language you wish." As he continues to shake his head, she adds, "When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Well, that incident with the banthas-"

She rolls her eyes. "Aside from that-"

"No."

"Let's hear it."

"Absolutely not." He stands, turning towards the door.

She grabs his arm, putting herself between him and his destination. "You know I'm right."

"Enough." He refuses to glance down, and she steps from side to side, so that she is always directly below his chin.

"What's it going to hurt?"

"You're being ridiculous!" He finally faces her, totally exasperated.

"Perhaps," she murmurs. She bites her bottom lip, and he tries, but fails not to stare.

Before a breath passes, her hands are framing his face and tugging him down, lips moving against his.

And then, quite inadvertently, his arms are lifting her to his level as he deepens the kiss.

When they break apart minutes later, panting, she's sitting on the ledge with her arms wrapped around his neck. His hands are against her back, so soft, fingers tracing down her spine.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, forehead leaning against hers.

She chuckles, fingers lightly scratching at the hair on the nape of his neck. "My thoughts exactly."


	2. Chapter 2

She'd left without a word. With the Republic in a shambles around her, she'd gone back to Naboo- he thought- to regroup. Get her bearings, find the next step with her people around her. That things had seemed to go south between her and Anakin- he didn't want to think that their relationship had meant that much in his absence. Enough to make her run. No, she wouldn't run because of that.

Or because he came back.

Would she?

They had fought before he left, and she'd asked him to stay. It had almost been enough to keep him by her side- she'd never asked anything of anyone- but his vengeance…

His vengeance.

Maul had fallen. He'd expected peace- silence- a weight lifting after years of bearing it. He didn't expect to feel a vacuum, a void in the Force. The lead in his stomach. To all of a sudden feel like something had gone very, very wrong.

And when he felt the balance shift back, he knew that a decision had been made and Maul's place had been filled. Something- _someone_ \- had smoothly fallen into place- but whom?

But when he returns, she is gone.

It was all his fault.

And normally, he'd have let her have her space. But he needs her. Everything that he had focused on for too many years, all the times she'd brought him back from the brink... He'd known something had happened right before he had gone to find Maul, but he'd brushed it off. She'd take care of herself. She'd been taking care of him all these years.

And now she is gone.

He has to go after her.

~oOo~

As he loads his x-wing, a tremor goes through the Force. Not even a minute later, he pauses as another tremor alerts his senses. Shaking his head, he ascends the ladder as Artoo beeps behind him.

~oOo~

It would be several days before he could get to Naboo. The Republic in turmoil made quick passage difficult, especially with the new patrols of clone troops pledging to protect the galaxy. He's laid over on Tatooine, waiting to refuel and bargaining over parts that his woefully old ship needs to complete the journey. He is haggling with a Jawan merchant when he feels it-

A pull, a comfort that he had only known in one presence.

He pulls his hood lower, and heads towards the small dwelling he sees in the setting suns' light.

As he nears the door, he notes Owen Lars bounding up the stairs. Probably getting ready to power down his farm for the evening. There's no love lost between the two men, especially since Anakin abandoned his home here to go off and be a "damn fool Jedi." And with all that has happened in the years following- he can't say that Owen was wrong.

But he doesn't want to stir that all up yet. He hangs back until Owen passes by and steals down the same stairs. He keeps to the alcoves, not wanting to go out into the open air of the inner bailey and possibly be seen before he could find her and convince her not to slam every door shut in his face.

A quick scan tells him that there's three walkways into the dwelling. He's not sure which one has the family's rooms, but he's sure that he-

"Ben."

Soft- he can barely hear her. It's coming from a corridor to his left that he then enters, albeit slowly. There's a door cracked and warm light from a fire coming from inside. His hand stretches out to open the door further, but he hesitates. His eyes slip closed.

"Are you just going to stand out there all night?"

A steeling breath, and he lightly pushes the door wider. She's turned from him, sitting on an oblong bed that's made up with spun blankets. Her hair, usually intricately done, is pulled back into a simple, messy bun. Wisps that he longs to wrap his finger 'round frame her face.

She hasn't turned to look at him yet. And his brain seems to have temporarily disconnected from his motor skills, keeping him in the doorway.

She's cradling something to her chest, and as the pieces come together, all of the air seems to leave his lungs at once.

Before he even notes a step, he is standing at the foot of her bed. She's nursing a tiny thing, couldn't be more than a few days old. Out of the corner of his eye something moves, and he sees a cot at Padmé's feet.

Inside it, another bundle.

 _Twins._

Not wanting to disturb the babe asleep in the cot, he lowers slowly to the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. Padmé is still looking to the babe at her breast, her face the impassive mask that she has had to hone throughout the years.

The one that he knows is his fault, this time.

The only tell that she is affected at all by his presence is a quiver in her bottom lip. Eyes clenched shut, he lowers his head. "I can't- I'm so-" His whispered words come forth seemingly unbidden. " _Padmé_ ," he chokes out.

When he looks up, she's transferred the babe to her shoulder, patting it firmly on the back. Finally meeting her eyes takes a bit longer, but when he does, she's blinking back tears. She lays the child in the cot, opposite to the other, and rises to her feet.

After making sure both of her children are sleeping comfortably, she stands before him and then gestures to the furniture over on the other side of the room. As she moves to pass by him, he gently grasps around her leg, leaning his forehead to her thigh. "Forgive me."

"Get up, you idiot," she whispers, hand lightly swatting at the side of his head.

She leads him to a couch that she settles into with a sigh. He sits on the other end, leaning his elbows forward on to his knees, hands clasped in front of him.

"You look tired."

He coughs out a laugh as he turns to her. "That's putting it mildly."

A small smile graces her face. "A little too scruffy for my tastes. Too much beard."

"I think it makes me look distinguished."

"A pompous ass, more like." She nudges her toes against his knee.

He shrugs, conceding. Looking down at his feet, he starts as if to speak several times before finally saying, "I shouldn't have left."

She doesn't respond for a moment. She tucks her feet closer to her. "Why?"

"It didn't help."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought it would, I don't know-" He flings his hands forward as if questioning the air before them, both then landing back on his knees. "Fix _something_."

"And it didn't?"

"Not a damn thing." He shakes his head, pulling a hand down his face.

"Was it really so bad before?" Her voice sounds small, unsure. Wrong.

He looks straight at her. "It wasn't. But I couldn't see it then. I didn't _want_ to see it then."

She nods, looking towards the fire. Unconsciously, her shoulders straighten just the least bit before she says, "They're Anakin's."

He grunts softly in acknowledgement, not trusting himself to actually speak.

"It was a one-time mistake, and I was-" She closes her eyes, breathing out. "Anyway, I'm keeping them."

After a moment's pause, he asks, "Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

She sighs. "I don't know what I'm going to do. He had been...different."

If he didn't know better, he would almost have thought it was fear in her look. "How so?"

"After I told him that this couldn't- that I didn't want an 'us,' he seemed to accept it." She looks away. "But he got...quiet. Not angry, just- something wasn't right. And soon after, I found out I was pregnant."

"Why did you come here of all places then?"

"Because this is the last place that he'd look."

Snuffling noises come from the other side of the room, and both tense waiting for a cry that doesn't come. When the room is silent again, he asks, "What did you name them?"

She smiles. "Leia and Luke."

"A boy and a girl?"

"Mmhmm." Her smile widens. "They're a handful already."

"Definitely your children, then." She swats at his arm indignantly as he chuckles.

His face sobers as the concerns of the galaxy start pricking his mind one by one. The smile, the face that he feels has been too rare in his life has seemed to take on his mood, as well. "What will you do?"

"Lay low for a bit, let them get a little older. Then go back to Naboo, possibly." She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "I have to do something to help preserve the Republic. There's a resistance group already building with Senator Organa on Alderaan."

He nodded, not surprised. Of course she'd continue.

"And what will you do?" she asks.

 _What will he do?_

"I should find Anakin. See what the Jedi are going to do now that their payroll has effectively been handed over."

"You could stay with me."

He gapes at her outburst. "And play nursemaid?"

"I doubt Artoo has a swaddling function. I'll need the extra hands."

"But- but what if we get into a skirmish of some sort- and you know we're going to, what with your bullheaded negotiations- what do we do with the little ones?"

"Baby in one arm, lightsaber in the other." She bites her lip to keep the full-blown grin from overtaking.

He narrows his eyes at her.

"There are also slings."

He rolls his eyes. "Now you're just picking on me."

Her smile fades a little, and her eyes scan over his face. "I missed you so much, Ben."

With sigh, he gathers her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

"I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you in the first place." He presses a kiss into her hair.

"I know." She wraps her arms around his waist. Her arms then grow tighter, as she buries her face in his tunic. "Don't leave me again."

He tilts her head up, thumb brushing a stray tear from her face. "I don't think I can."

Her hands come up to frame his face, and he rests his forehead against hers. Her lips tilt up to tentatively brush against his. With a soft whimper, he returns her kiss, mouth opening to take her bottom lip between his.

It ends much as it started- his forehead to hers.

Mindful that her body was still healing, he sits back further into the couch, his legs bracketing her as she leans against him. She takes his arms and wraps them around her own waist, resting her arms on top of his.

"I'll stay."


End file.
